September 5, 2015

 This dress.

If you have been reading up to now, you know my boobs are weird.
If you have eyes you can see clearly in the above photo, they look a little weird.

I have a congenital deformity called Poland syndrome. Just Google it.

I’m trying so hard to be okay with it, but I am not there yet.

I have/had body dysmorphia.
I have bouts where I think/believe/see myself as deformed. Because I am.

I am also anorexic, in the same way even a recovered alcoholic will always be an alcoholic.
I’m currently able to eat, but things could change, as they tend to do and imbibing a blueberry will feel like a Herculean task.

I am also medium to heavily tattooed.

Neither of those things have to do with my body dysmorphia nor my deformity. My anorexia is stress related. I would rather look in the mirror and see curvy/toned but when I am sad, I can’t bring myself to chew or swallow. I don’t even get hungry.
My tattoos are pretty, no great meaning behind them except the 3 that are words, and mean what they say. I just like them.

I am currently recovering from a 5.5 hour tattoo session wherein 80% of a full back piece was outlined. I am endorphin crashing like mad. It’s okay. Holding the vision, trusting the process.

What is not okay is I cannot at this moment, wear a bra. I am self-conscious about my boobs to the point where it is crippling sometimes. Like right now, wherein my body is in a weakened state, my mind is preoccupied with lack of sleep and pain management and I can’t get happy nor comfortable. Comfortable clothes has become a contradiction in terms and my bedroom floor looks like a hurricane hit my closet.

This too shall pass. I’ll be Pollyanna again by tomorrow, but right now I hurt, and I am naked because I can’t hide my boobs in a bra, so I am unable to even at all.

My heart hurts a bit too.

I changed my profile pic to match my cover photo, I do this every day, usually without consequence. Today however I looked at the date and comments. Flashbacks galore, on a day where I can barely exist in my current hurt, much less deal with old ones.

I have a collection of dresses and shirts that I feel comfortable in without a bra. They are my favorites.

Once upon a May 18^th, I had a market day with friends. I wore one of said dresses, my favorite one in fact. It had always made me feel like I was wearing butterfly wings, silken flowing. I wandered about running my own errands to spare their 4 year old my meandering. And lo, what to my slightly teary eyes should appear? Mind Fuck. I finally remembered what I named the Twinkie Ghostling Young Un Three Point ohmygodyouareadorable, with that glorious mouth of his, noms. He looked at me like I was made of magic, bit his delicious bottom lip, asked if he could draw me, gathered all my information and we parted ways. Me flattered and happy.

3 blocks away, I meet up with my other family, go for dinner…Wee Miss Memphis has nothing to do so I wander out in search of crayons. Some potato shaped girl across the street remarks to her friends “Her boobs look weird in that dress don’t they?” in reference to me and LOUD AS FUCK. Immediate shame, I slunk back to the restaurant, trouty-pouty mouthed boy forgotten, the love, warmth and acceptance of my non-biological family, wasn’t enough to erase what she said. I wrapped my sweater around me and stayed covered for the rest of the day. Until Wee Miss Memphis got chilly and I wrapped her up in it. Children trump everything, ever and always.

I can accept that there will be days when I simply feel yucky, it’s normal, it’s human, it’s inevitable…
What I cannot abide is when that feeling is pushed on me by outside forces.
I am ultimately in charge of this.
This is commonly know as giving no fucks.
I’m good with that.

The next day I spoke to the trouty-mouthed-mind-fuck and we had a thing for a few weeks. He was lovely until he lied with his purdy mouth, to my face, about pretty much everything. Goes to show can’t trust even the prettiest words from the prettiest boys, but whatev’s. I had a little meltdown and got over it.

That dress didn’t make it through the next purge, I toss a lot of things that hold less than spectacular memories. I sold it. But not because of the boy who lied. Because of the girl who told the truth. I know that their opinions of me are none of my business but I couldn’t shake it off. I still can’t, I am writing 1000 words about how I let 2 strangers both make and break my day. I don’t know how to stop this but I have to try.

I wrote this this morning.

_______________________________________________________________

Ode to Hot Neighbor

Oh hot neighbor,

Why you gotta to be so hot.

How is it that every time I see you

I am a mess

Sleep in my eyes

Hair wild, but not in a good way

Sweaty sweats

Tiny dog straining at the leash

She wants to say hi

I know how she feels

But I smile and drop my head

I’m always carrying trash

Late for something

And yet,

You look at me as if I am in my Sunday best

Carrying the grail or a cool drink of water

Salome down to her last veil.

Thank you hot neighbor,

For being so hot and so sweet.

____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Perhaps one day I’ll say hello, and instead of asking for a cup of sugar, I’ll borrow his eyes and see what he sees when he looks at me, hopefully I will be in one of those dresses that I love so much, feeling and maybe even looking like a butterfly.

 

“How do we first begin to covet Clarice? …
“We covet what we see every day.” (Silence of the Lambs)

I have very clear and very personal ideals when it comes to relationships.

When I hit a certain level of emotional commitment to someone, sleeping with other people starts to feel…wrong. So I just don’t do it.
There are exceptions to this rule of mine, but they are rare and consensual.

I operate on a case by case basis.

I am a monogamous creature by nature.

I do not believe that everyone is.

I also don’t expect my partner to be.

Stay with me here. I know the cult of jealousy is a strong one, I once drank that kool-aid every morning with breakfast. This may or may not make sense to you by the end, and that is okay. I am not asking to be your girlfriend…I’m just showing you my guts.

I know there will be nay-sayers who say things like “well, you must not really love him then”. To them, I say “nay”. My body, my heart, my love, my life, my choice. Jealousy and love are not the same thing. Love is not control, love is acceptance. This is my opinion, I have no desire to sway anyone else’s, in fact that is the entire point of this post.

I don’t consider casual sexual contact outside of my relationship cheating.

I know emotional monogamy without physical monogamy exists, I have been in it. I quite liked it there.

What I cannot abide is lying.

I have always felt that being lied to is the kissing cousin to “hey, do you know how stupid I think you are? So stupid that you will swallow this bullshit I am about to feed you, don’t choke on it though, I really do love you.” (no, you don’t)

I am not now, nor have I ever been side-bitch material. It just ain’t my thing. I am the first wife, the goodwife, the primary or I walk. I am worth more, and I know it.

And if someone else’s husband approaches me. I send him home. That’s not my pain to distribute or deal in. Not my circus, not my monkey.

I was not always this way.

I used to see the Ashley Madison commercials and an anger and rage most horrid would well up inside of me to the point where I felt sick.

I have been having an ongoing debate about whether or not jealousy has an anthropological precedent. I said no, it was invented when we humans, started having free time.

Anthropologically speaking, and there is logic here, humans covet other humans, for companionship and genetic material. Way back in the days of yore, the only time a woman was not self-sufficient was when she was towards the end of pregnancy or with the subsequent newborn. Makes sense to lock the other half of the DNA down. It’s survival.

Biologically, men have taken this to a weird level wherein, if they feel like the mother of their children is not being faithful, their bodies create soldier sperm to kill off any other swimmers that might get in their way. They are hard wired to propagate their own genetic material. All animals are. It’s just science.

So, I was wrong. I am wrong often. Like when those commercials used to make me throw up in my mouth a bit. The ‘they’ that decides these things would air those commercials with alarming frequency during episodes of Maury and Jerry Springer. At one point in my life, I was on a constant diet of those shows. And just like everything else. What you absorb, you become. I was wrong to be in that house, I was wrong to be watching those shows. To feed on the pain of others (real or imaginary) just to make myself feel better about myself and my situation. That is not how it’s done. 
THAT my friends is a self-fulfilling prophecy wrapped in a conundrum on a downward spiral.

I was technically married, I got technically cheated on.

I had every right to be jealous…or did I?

He was hard-wired towards polygamy. I didn’t get it. Granted there was some false advertising on his part, but I am a smart girl. I knew better. And yet, I clung to the idea of him I had created in my head instead of learning who he really was and making decisions based in reality. I fought for the fantasy version of him so hard and vehemently, I pushed him (the real him) into the arms of another woman, who does indeed accept him for exactly who he is.

I go back and forth between ‘yes, we indeed are all unique snowflakes’, to ‘no we are not’ like a pendulum swinging depending on the circumstances. In this instance, when I consider a new partner, yes, yes we are all unique. This person is deserving of being explored thoroughly and without prejudice. I have criteria, I want to be intellectually challenged, I prefer my men fuck like monsters, I want to touch and be touched without thinking/feeling permission must be granted, I want to be accepted. So, I have an obligation to BE those things and give them and myself, freely.

And this shall be the whole of the law, do what thou will.

Just love each other as is.